In the quiet convent garden A pallid maiden dreamed. The moon was dim above-- On drooping lashes gleamed A tear of tender love. He is dead, my faithful lover-- What blessedness for me! Now it is right to love: An angel he will be, And angels I may love. She walked with steps unsteady To mother Mary's shrine; The image, wondrous mild, Looked in the pale moonshine Upon the undefiled. She sank down, gazing upward, In heavenly peace reposed, Until her eyelids frail In gentle death were closed; Down fell the long, black veil. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TOAST TO OUR NATIVE LAND by ROBERT BRIDGES (1858-1941) THE WARM CRADLE by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 48 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) KNAPWEED by ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 101. AGE: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT IN THE GARDEN (WITH APOLOGIES TO ALFRED NOYES) by MARJORIE W. BRACHLOW |